


i'll make a cup of coffee for your head

by VigilantePond



Category: Doctor Sleep (2019), Doctor Sleep - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:55:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24087700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VigilantePond/pseuds/VigilantePond
Summary: French barista Mya Guérin first met Rose the Hat when she was just a child, and went on with the rest of her life thinking about her "imaginary friend". One day, she meets Rose again at work, and is faced with a tempting choice...
Relationships: Rose the Hat/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	i'll make a cup of coffee for your head

**Author's Note:**

> Coucou! I wanted to write something inspired by Amelia Pond/ The Doctor where she met him as a child and then encounters him again as a grown-up. It's set in France cause I felt like it and while I do speak French I apologize if I make any mistakes.

Avignon, France 

Mya Guérin rushed behind the counter and slipped on her leafy green apron just in time for her shift. She exhaled a sigh of relief as the clock struck 8h00 — she wasn’t late for once. Of course, no matter how many times she ran late for her shifts, her manager Nicolas still gave her the honour of _l’employé du mois_ every month, much to her coworkers’ dismay. At only 21 years old, Mya was one of the best baristas Le Rêve Café had ever seen. She always seemed to know what her customers wanted before they even ordered, she was quick on her feet, and had delicate deft hands that whipped up deadly delicious drinks. 

Soft rain pattered outside the window as Mya swept the floor and swayed along to Jane Birkin & Serge Gainsbourg playing over the speakers. She spun around, her long brown curls flowing behind her gracefully. Finally, she heard the bells at the door ring, indicating that a customer had finally walked in. Mya looked up, and the broom in her hands dropped to the floor with a _pang_. The woman who walked in — no, walked would be an understatement. This woman moved with such flow, with such a heavy presence that demanded attention wherever she went. Her masses of dark hair were under a black silk hat which was woven with a rich history; she had an electrifying bone structure and carried herself with a kind of confidence that was irresistible, and unforgettable. Surely, Mya Guérin had not forgotten her. 

“La dame au chapeau” — The lady in the hat, came to her when she was just 7 years old. The memory was still clear as day in her head, the day when she was on vacation with her aunt Virginie in Nice. She’d wandered off into a colourful alley, and la dame au chapeau had approached her, calling her “ _ma bichette_ ” and offering “ _magique_ ”. Unfortunately, their interaction was cut short by Virginie’s sharp eye and talon-like arms that snatched her back to safety and the lady mysteriously vanished. Since that day, Mya never stopped thinking about la dame au chapeau, scribbling countless doodles of her, knitting dolls of her, and making her friends dress up as her. Everybody was convinced that she was merely a product of Mya’s vivid imagination, and la dame au chapeau was nothing more than _un ami imaginaire_. Mya almost believed that… until she saw her before her very eyes at the coffee shop 14 years later. 

“Un café au lait, s'il vous plaît,” the lady in the hat said. Of course, Mya already knew that — she heard the thought in her head before the words slipped out of her sweet mouth. Her French had a tinge of American and Irish accent mixed with it, just the way she remembered it. Could it really be? How was it possible? She hadn’t aged a day, her skin was still smooth as silk. Maybe she was dreaming… after all, this was _The Dream Café_. 

“Et votre nom?” Mya asked, although there was no point in asking for the customer’s name in an empty café. Again, she heard the response in her head ahead of time. 

“ _Rose_.” Rose… Rose, Rose Rose. After all these years, she finally had a name for _la dame au chapeau._ She thought of Shakespeare: _A rose by any other name would smell as sweet?; It suits her,_ she decided, _beautiful, potentially dangerous and thorny_. She could feel Rose’s stormy blue eyes drilling into her as she began to make her coffee, trying her best to ignore it. Her cheeks began to flush, either the café’s air conditioner was broken or Rose was making it _très très chaud —_ in more than one way. 

“Here you go, have a nice day,” Mya said in English. She had a strong southern French accent, but she figured it was more comfortable for Rose if she communicated in English. They brushed fingers momentarily as she handed her the cup. 

“Merci, ma cherie. This is a beautiful café,” Rose smiled. 

“Thank you,” Mya replied. 

Rose took her cup and sipped her drink quietly in the corner with a book. Gradually, more customers rolled in, but even while Mya was caught up in a storm of orders, she caught glimpses of Rose watching her. Her mind was too noisy to tune into only Rose’s thoughts, so she did not know what she was thinking. Plus, she had plenty of coffees to make and her imaginary childhood friend appearing was not to be a distraction. 

Mya handed the next customer — a stout middle-aged man—his order, but instead he grabbed onto her wrist. She gasped, caught off guard. 

“T’es belle, tu as un 06?” he asked, ogling her. She had dealt this too many times unfortunately, all idiots who thought it was a good idea to ask for her number or hit on her at work. 

She took a deep breath, channeled out her thoughts and stared into his eyes with a menacing glare. “Laisse-moi!” she commanded. Immediately, it was as if the man became hypnotized, and dropped his limp hand and spilling his drink all over his crisp white shirt. Inside her mind, she continued to command him to leave, and he stumbled out the café like a bumbling fool.  “Connard,” she cursed under her breath. 

Mya looked up, and met Rose’s eye; she seemed to be grinning with a stamp of approval. After she took the next order, Rose had disappeared from her seat. Mya’s heart sank — she remembered how she felt as a little girl, when the lady in the hat vanished before her eyes. She feared that she would never see her again. 

As the afternoon went on, the café began to clear out and Mya tied up the large garbage bag to dump in the back alley. As much as she loved her job, this was her least favourite part. Well, the garbage and the creepy old men. 

She swung the back door open, and let out a high pitched scream. The man from earlier lied face-down in the back alley, with crimson stains soaking through his white shirt — now stained with blood _and_ coffee. Mya jumped back, dropping the garbage bag and unsure of what to do. Her heart began to race as she was about to run back inside the café. Should she call the police and report a murder? Was she next? 

“Well… hi there, ma cherie,” a familiar voice said. Rose stepped out of the shadows with a menacing grin, swinging a bloody butterfly knife in her hand. Despite the blood stains on her arms and cheeks, she still looked gorgeous. “I’ve been waiting for you.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Some French notes: "ma bichette" is a term of endearment, meaning "young doe". "chaud" means hot as in temperature but also in slang terms for something exciting or could also be sexual. "Tu as un 06" is asking someone for their number because some French phone numbers start with 06. "Connard" means asshole.


End file.
